Loving the Sun
by caijda
Summary: Before I met him, I was nothing. All I had were the clothes on my back and the skills that I had learned to survive. I lived in darkness and danger and bitterness. But when that blond idiot came bursting into my life, like the sun out of the clouds, I learned fate is not always against me and love can come in the purest of forms.
1. Alex

The first name that I had was Little One. It was from my mom- she refused to really name me. Said "It'll be easier when you leave." And it was easier. With no name, I had no reason to go back. It wasn't that she ignored me, she just didn't want me to live her life. She told me that when I was five. She said, "I made some mistakes. Bad mistakes. I want you to go make your own mistakes. Not mine."

When I was three, mom taught me how to read. When I was five, I wanted to go to school. Mom thought it would be great, but I didn't have any paperwork. I was a shadow child, not born in a hospital, someone who had nothing. So mom taught me herself when she wasn't working. I grew up speaking English around my mom and French around everyone else, so she taught me how to write in both of them. She taught me math and science from thrown out textbooks. She taught me what was right and wrong from her bible, though she didn't believe a word of it herself. I soaked everything up like a sponge. I read whatever I could get my hands on, public libraries now being where I spent all of my time when mom wasn't home.

When I was seven, I asked what my mother what she did for a living. She told me that she made men happy. I was confused and she clarified saying that she slept with men. Being seven I had no idea what that meant. It was a few more weeks until I figured it out, when I got stuck in our worn down apartment from a rainstorm. Mom had made me promise not to go out in the rain, as I could get sick and she couldn't afford me getting sick, so I had to promise to stay in the house. I was reading the worn out bible, the only book that I hadn't read so many times that I memorized it when I came upon the word "prostitute." I was curious and turned to a dictionary, knowing that I had read the word before. I found the word and read the meaning. Later that night I asked mom if she was a prostitute. She bluntly answered yes. We never spoke of it again.

Mom worked hard, but there were some bad seasons. She always made sure that she had a roof over my head, though that sometimes meant that I didn't get food. The worst was when I didn't eat for a week. That was the first time I picked someones pocket. I was eight. I was on my way home from the library and it was dark outside. I remember I walked past a young man with his wallet sticking out of his coat, and without thinking I ran into him, slipped my hand around his wallet and snuck it behind me. "I'm so sorry, sir." I quickly spoke in English, trying to make it seem like I was a lost tourist kid. Even at eight, I was pretty good at lying. He bought it, quickly saying that it was alright as I ran off. When I got home, I showed mom, who was furious.

"You don't steal wallets." She told me with a tired voice. "People notice that and we can't use the cards at all." She took the small thing from me and contacted the owner. She gave it back, but not after I had swiped the cash from it.

I guess that was my second name, Pickpocket. It was easy, like breathing. I would walk by people and take out their wallets, go around the corner, snatch the cash and discard the rest, never stopping. I'd go to a store and get the marked down bread and eat it all before I got home. I never told my mom, but she was sharp. Instead of seeing me grow weak and sluggish each time she couldn't afford food, she saw me stay at the scrawny, half-starved state that I was normally in. She never said anything about it though. I started only eating half of what I had gotten and leaving the rest on the table for her. I think that was around the time that we started drifting apart. I started staying out longer and leaving earlier, staying just long enough to sleep, maybe shower if the water wasn't turned off and change clothes. I started providing for basic necessities for myself as time wore on.

I was only caught twice, once when I was still eight. I picked the wrong man, the up and coming in a local gang. Everybody knows everybody in the underground, but he had come from a different town and joined because a cousin suggested him. I did my normal routine: pick, walk, grab the cash and drop the wallet, but I didn't know that he was being traced. They cornered me before I could spend it and they gently persuaded me with their guns to join them at their base. At their base, they told me to back off, but if I was interested in a few years, they would be willing to take me in.

After that, I upped my game. I would take the wallet, take the cash and then reverse pick-pocket the wallet right back. I never took more than 20 euros from any one person and I figured that was enough to let me sleep easy every night. Well as easy as you can sleep when you're out in the open on park benches or in alleyways. I was never homeless, I just didn't go home. Mom never said anything about it, if she said anything at all. I would still bring food home every once in awhile, but that became sporadic. But she was never home when I was. I think I saw her a grand total of three times after I turned nine.

The only other time I was caught was because of a blond idiot.

* * *

I had just turned ten. I had been walking through a fancier district, one that I didn't feel bad about taking 30 to 40 euros depending on the amount they had on them. It was a fall day, the air was crisp and cold, and I knew it would frost that night. I was hoping to maybe be able to buy some heat packs so that I could move my fingers in the morning. I stopped behind a bench that held a nice younger blond lady. She sat there, staring off into the distance, her bag right next to her, open wide to prying fingers. My own prying fingers quickly located her wallet, pulled it out, and opened it. I was extremely disappointed to not find any cash, but I quickly zipped it back up and was about to put it back when I heard an annoying voice behind me yell, "What are doing to Mother's bag!?" I whipped around to find a boy around my age running towards me, his blond hair flying in the wind behind him. I dashed off down the street, but the boy was already too close and he grabbed my arm. I tried to push him off of me, but he held on.

"Let go!" I yelled at him in French but he just looked at me and I realized that his eyes were so blue they were almost purple.

"You shouldn't steal from people." He told me as he held my arm tight. "It's not nice." I glanced down at his clothing. He had a semi-expensive jacket, hung over a private school uniform. Probably some rich bastard's child. I glared at him, an expression that had his hand around my arms trembling, but he didn't let go.

"What would you know," I spat at him. "You've probably had three meals a day, everyday for your whole entire life. This is the first time this week that I am going to get to eat, 'cause I had to spend all of the rest of what I made so I could get another shirt so I wouldn't freeze at night. So I'd gladly like you to refrain from telling me what is or isn't nice." My voice had risen until I was shouting at him, garnering the attention of those around us, but I really didn't care at the moment. There was a moment while the rich bastard held my arm, and then he was hugging me and crying.

"THAT MUST BE TERRIBLE!" He yelled while I was unable to breathe. I tried to push him away but he just held me tight. "YOU MUSTN'T WORRY ANYMORE! WE'LL BRING YOU HOME WITH US AND YOU CAN HAVE THOSE THREE MEALS A DAY IF YOU WANT!" I finally struggled out of the idiot's embrace and pushed him to the ground.

"I DON'T WANT YOUR PITY!" I yelled at him in English. He looked at me confused and I realized why and repeated it in French while glaring at the tree near me. I realized that I still had the wallet in my hand and I threw it at him. "Here, take it. There is nothing in there that I could use anyway." I turned and walked away, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. It was three sizes too big but it was warm, and that was all that mattered.

"WAIT!" The blond idiot yelled after me, but I ignored him and kept walking before someone realized that I was a pickpocket, and called the police on me. The blond idiot ran up behind me and pulled me to a stop. "Wait, please." he said as he breathed quick from running. "I wasn't pitying you. I would really like you to come home with us." He put his hands on both of my shoulders and stared right into my eyes. "We have an extra bedroom you could use and we can feed you warm food, and even if you don't want to stay you should come anyway, because its only me and mother and the maids, and it's kinda lonely, but I think you would love it there." I opened my mouth to protest but my stomach growled out of frustration. I wasn't lying when I said I hadn't eaten since last week. I looked back up into the blond's eyes to tell him no for a final time, when I stopped. There was a passion burning in his eyes, something that I had only seen in the men who prowled the night, but unlike their passion, the blond's was pure. He was concerned for me, even though I had tried to rob his mother. It took my breath away and I hung my head in defeat.

"Fine," I muttered, mad at myself for giving in so easy. "I'll come with you." I heard a laugh and then the idiot hugged me and spun me around.

"AH! I'M SO EXCITED THAT YOU'RE COMING!" By the time that he put me down I was dizzy from oxygen deprivation and the spinning, but I don't think the idiot noticed. He grabbed my hand and started dragging me towards his mother, who had been making her way towards us slowly. "Come on, we have to get home soon. It looks like mother's tired." I followed along, only stopping briefly to pick up the wallet that the blond had left on the ground when he came after me the second time. When we met up with his mother, I held out the wallet, while looking away.

"I'm sorry I took it." I said simply. I wasn't going to explain my reasoning or promise that I wouldn't do it again, because I knew I would do it again. I had to eat somehow. The lady took the wallet and smiled at me, and I could see that the blond was right. She was tired. But the idiot started babbling on like he didn't even notice.

"Mother, I invited him to have dinner with us! And you should let him stay for tonight, so he won't freeze." I looked at the ground as the woman replied.

"Ah, René. Shouldn't you ask his parents if he can come over?" She questioned him gently.

"My mother doesn't care." I answered bluntly. "I don't think I've seen her for three months now." I slid my gaze up to the mother's face. Her blue eyes were filled with tears and I could imagine the idiot also crying for me too. I shrugged and tried to put my freezing hands in my pocket, on to find my left one was still in the idiot's grasp.

"You can stay as long as you need to, okay?" The mother was telling me. I didn't tell her that I was leaving tomorrow, never to come back. I shivered and the boy next to me noticed. He let go of my hand to wrapped the scarf he wore around my neck. My hand felt really cold without his in it, but he took it back before I could put it into my pocket.

"Come on, Mother. It's getting late." The idiot said and he started dragging me again away from the park. It didn't take very long to get to his house, the idiot talking the whole way there about how I was going to love it there. One of the maids looked me up and down when I walked in, but she lead me to where I could get a warm shower.

"Just leave your clothes by the door and I'll dispose of them." She told me. I looked up at her with fear in my eyes.

"Could you at least leave the jacket?" I asked. She looked like she was about to say no when I pulled my trump card. I looked down at the floor and made my eyes water. "It's alright, I guess. It was the only thing of Papa's that I have left." I said as I shrugged my way out of it, slowly as if I was afraid of letting it go. The maid quickly said that I would be able to keep it, she would only wash it and the clothes, even though the shoes would have to go. I breathed a sigh of relief after she left. I never did know my bastard of a father, but he's helped me out a lot.

I quickly showered, making sure to wash the old dust and sweat from my body as well as the grease from my hair. When I finished I dressed in the clothing that they gave me, something of the idiot's I guessed. It was fine. I hadn't gone through puberty yet, so my breasts had yet to fill out, even though boxers did feel a little weird. I was led to the dining room where the idiot was already sitting with his mother. I slipped into the seat across from the boy and we started on the soup that had been set already.

There was silence as we ate, and my wet bangs kept getting in my face. About half way through the meal, the idiot's mother started talking just to be polite.

"So what's your name?" I looked up at her before looking back down onto my plate.

"I don't have one." I muttered into my soup. I tore off another chunk of the rich bread that they had given me and dipped it into the liquid.

"What do you mean, you don't have a name," the idiot asked and stood up. He pointed at me with his spoon. "Everyone has a name!" I stuffed the dripping bread into my mouth as his mother corrected him.

"Maybe he doesn't want to tell you what his name is." She chided gently.

"Nope," I said, my mouth half full. "I don't have a name. Mother refused to name me, said it'd be easier for me to leave when I had to." I shrugged as I swallowed and tore off another piece of bread. The idiot and his mother both stared at me like I had grown a second head, but that happened often, so I let it slide and continued eating.

"You need a name!" The idiot's statement took me off guard and I choked on the bread. After I had gotten my voice back I glared at him.

"I don't need a name." I said. His mother was still staring at me. "I've lived just fine for the past 10 years without a name." But the idiot wasn't listening to me.

"How about Charles?" He asked. "Or Mathias? What about Jacques?"

"No! No! No!" I said.

"Why, do you not like my names?"

"NO!"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a girl!" I shout at him. Both him and his mother were shocked.

"Then why is your hair cut like that?" The idiot asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because then people with think that I'm a boy."

"But why would you do that but insist that you're a girl?" His mother had at least caught what I was hinting at.

"René." She warned, glaring down at her son. He looked up at her as if he was going to fight with her, but decided against it at last minute. The table had descended into an uncomfortable silence until René's mother cleared her throat.

"What about Alex?" She asked quietly. I was about to protest when she continued. "It can be used as both a girl's and a boy's name. And it's at least something that we could call you while you're here." I felt like protesting, but I let them have their way.

"Fine." I agreed. And that is how I earned my third name and my first true name.

* * *

After the meal I followed René to his room, bored with nothing else to do. He turned on the television and I watched it in awe. He put a movie on, and I watched the cartoon move around on the screen, surprised that it was in a different language.

"What language is this in?" I asked René. He looked at me, and a light bulb suddenly flicked on.

"Japanese." He said as he started messing with the television. "I forgot you can't speak Japanese! I've learned since I was little since Outo-san is Japanese. Sorry!"

"It's alright!" I said trying to reason with him. "I was just wondering what language it was in!" René had just finished changing the video cassette and another movie (this time in French) started playing.

"There, now that's better, right?" René looked at me and smiled. It was strange to be smiled at. I smiled back and then turned to the screen again.

As the movie was ending, the maid came in and told the two of us to get ready for bed. I got up to leave, suddenly feeling a reluctance to do so. I stood by the door, mentally arguing with myself. I had slept in unfamiliar places before, most much more dangerous. This should be no different. I debated for too long and René caught me stalling at the door.

"Are you going to be alright?" He asked. I mentally screamed yes and begged myself to move away from the door, but my body betrayed me and meekly nodded no. René ran at me and hugged me, this time without crushing or spinning me. "It's alright. I don't think mother or the maid will mind you sleeping here tonight."

Minutes later we were snuggled up into the blankets, me on one side of the bed, René on the other side. We lay with our faces facing each other, and then giggled at our sudden closeness. "Alex?" René asked. I stared at him, his bright eyes almost glowing in the dark.

"What René?" I asked as I snuggled closer into the pillows and blankets. René reached up and brushed his hand against my face.

"I'm really glad I met you today." He smiled. At me. I felt like I should be floating on the clouds and I smiled back.

"Hey René?" I asked him when I could open my mouth through my smile. He had been staring at me but seemed to break out of his trance when I said his name.

"Yes Alex?"

"We need to go to sleep." I said, a yawn punctuating my sentence. René followed suit and we snuggled down again.

"Good night Alex." I opened my eyes and stared at him. I almost didn't know how to answer before I remembered from reading in a book.

"Good night René." I turned around and started breathing deeply.

* * *

It was around 2 in the morning when I woke from the nightmare. I've always had them, but they still terrify me. They also usually woke me up right before someone was coming near me, so I can't hate them too much. What was disorienting was that I was laying on a super soft bed, not the hardwood floors of my mother's apartment. And it was warm, unlike the concrete street ways that I usually frequented. I opened my eyes and took in as much of the room as I could. There, in the pathway of a beam of light, sat all of my clothes, clean and folded.

I quietly sat up, looking back to make sure that I hadn't disturbed René. He was sleeping soundly, hugging a teddy bear that I hadn't noticed earlier and was drooling on his pillow, a soft snore escaping his mouth. All in all, he looked pretty cute. I knew that I wasn't going to get back to sleep anytime soon, my nightmare bringing back all of my paranoia, so I slowly made my way out of the sheets which had gotten tangled around me while I had slept and I made my way towards my clothes. I quickly stripped out of René's borrowed clothing and pulled mine on, finding the familiar overly largess of my coat comforting. I quickly made my way across the floor to the corner across from the door and under the window. I unlatched the window out of habit, though it left it closed to keep the draft out. With my exit ready and my entrance watched I was able to slip back into a slight semblance of sleep.

* * *

"Alex?" I heard a voice and then some rustling. "Alex why are you all the way over there?" I felt a presence move towards me and my body acted without thinking. I jumped up and pushed the window open before I realized what I was doing. I had one leg over the edge and I was readying myself to jump when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I looked back at René, who had a pretty good handful of my jacket. I woke up just enough to realize that if I left, I'd leave the jacket behind. I breathed and pulled myself back into the room and shut the window, making sure that I had locked it. I turned back to René and muttered an apology.

Before he could answer, a maid opened the door and told us it was time for René to get ready for school. I left as he got dressed and I followed a maid out to the breakfast table, where there was already food. I helped myself to a small bite of a scone, since I was still full from the night before. René followed in shortly after with his mother behind him. He was talking nonstop about birds, and even eating didn't stop him from speaking five million miles an hour. After they were done eating, they stood up and started towards the door. I followed until René got to the door. He turned around as if he had suddenly forgotten something and put his hands on my shoulders and stared directly into my eyes. Again. I looked up at him. "Can you promise to be here when I get back?" He asked. I knew I couldn't and I knew he knew I couldn't promise it.

"No." I told him looking straight into his almost purple eyes. "But I do promise that I will come back, eventually." He smiled. At me. And then he hugged me like he had last night, calmly, lovingly. I hugged him back for a minute before giving him a shove. "Alright, now go to school. You'll be late if you stay any longer." He looked a bit stunned for a moment before he smiled again and ran off and waved. I waved back, even though I knew he wouldn't have seen me.

"Alex." I turned around and looked at René's mother, who was staring me down. "Where do you go to school?" She asked, her voice very quiet. I shrugged.

"I don't." I said as I stared at where the blond idiot disappeared. "Mother taught me to read, though. And my maths. I do like reading. A lot. I do it whenever I have time." I smiled up at the fair lady and smiled. "Thank you for having me, Mrs. ..." I suddenly realized that I didn't have any idea of who this lady was.

"de Grantaine. Anne-Sophie de Grantaine." She smiled down at me. Her name wrote itself down in my mind, and I knew I would never forget it. Or her.

"Thank you Mrs. de Grantaine." I said. "Now I think I'd better be going. I don't like sleeping in the same area twice, you know." I smiled at her and opened the door and left, thinking that I would never see the purple eyed idiot or his tired mother ever again. However, fate has a funny way of twisting people together.

* * *

A/N: Hey~ So I know I have like three other stories in the works that I haven't updated in months, but this story has been growing on the sidelines for about the same amount of time. I think this is my favorite Ouran story I've written thus far, and it feels so very different from my other writings. It has a special place in my heart, and I know that that I probably wont give up on it, though it will take me forever to update (you have been warned).

Please review. I know it gets annoying when people ask for them, but they are really helpful with becoming a better writer. Let me know if you love it, if you hate it, if you hate me, or if I've made a mistake. Seriously, I'm dyslexic, so I will not see the error, even if I have spell check on.

And last, but not least, I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. That honor goes to the lovely and talented Bisco Hatori.

Edit (4/25/15: Fixed all of the verb tenses. Now it won't be switching from past to present. Sorry about any confusion that might have arisen.)


	2. de Grantaine

TW: Blood/slightly graphic scene.

* * *

I wandered for a few more months, doing my old thing. I would skip home every week or so and hope the water was still running so I could get at least some of the smell of the streets off of me and warm up a bit. I always left an offering of food for the shower, but never stayed longer than a few minutes. I began going back to the libraries on Saturdays, a little treat for me, and I would lose myself in a world of books for a few hours until my stomach would growl at me and curse me for not getting it food. But I endured. Every single day I thought about going back to the blond idiot and his beautiful mother and asking if I could get a meal and sleep in their house for a night and every single day I told myself that it could always be worse than a missed meal, than snow to sleep on, than getting beaten because what would a ten year old boy have on him worth anything but chicken change. The gangs had started trying to recruit me, looking older than I was, but my mother had raised me with morals. Bent ones, but ones that I held on to for dear life.

The last day I saw my mother was some time that winter. I remember it was in the middle of a snowstorm, and I decided that my mother's apartment was better than freezing in the elements. I had picked the shabby lock before shaking the snow off of my jacket. I could feel the dank chill of the room seep into my very bones, however, it was better than the tearing wind that threatened to take my jacket at every opportunity. I huddled in what used to be my corner, and pulled the old blankets around me, breathing in my sent mixed with mildew and dust. That's when I heard the cough from the other side of the room, a thin watery cough which was more like a wheezing sigh. I froze. I had assumed mother would be gone, because that was how it always was. Every sense alert, I flicked my pocket knife open and held it in front of me like a sword. Since I had found it a few months ago, I've only used it twice. Passionate men usually leave alone a young boy that bites. I slowly made my way across the small space to my mother's side of the room, putting up my sleeve over my mouth to keep from retching from the stench that I hadn't noticed until now.

My mother lay in a pool of blood and mucus; some of it was dried and crusting in tracks down her face around her head, some was fresh and oozing out of her nose and mouth. I recoiled back as I quickly thought of all of the diseases that she could have contacted and how many of them were contagious.

"Mother?" I asked in a quiet horror. Her eyes flashed quickly, slightly losing the hazy quality that they held and looked up at me. She tried to raise her hand, but even that was too much for her. She slumped back down and coughed, more blood dribbling out of her mouth, retracing the already dried tracks down her cheek. It steamed in the freezing air, making me wonder what sort of a temperature she was running.

I didn't dare touch her. I barely dared to breathe, hoping to keep some of the sickness away, but I knew there is nothing I could do to help her. I saw her try to open her mouth, try to form words, but all that comes out is a rattling hiss. Nevertheless, I was able to read her lips trying to say "Little One" one last time. She coughed once more, and I realized that she was drowning in her own blood. I stepped back as she started spasming, more blood spewing out of her mouth and into the cold air around her. When her thrashing stopped and her eyes had clouded over I stood in the middle of the room, my jacket over my mouth and my small knife held in front of me.

I had seen death before. You didn't live on the streets and not see some people freeze at night. You see cats and dogs run over on a daily basis, you see people die of blood loss as they bleed from internal bruising and gashes. You see them die of sickness and disease, and hope you don't catch whatever they have, and you thank an unknown god when you actually wake up the next morning with nothing but aches from sleeping on cold concrete. But it's different when they pass away quickly or in their sleep. When you slit someone's throat, if you do it right, they die in a matter of seconds. If a cat gets run over by a car, it's dead with it's neck broken. But watching as they slowly drowned after choking for days, or maybe even weeks? That was horrifying.

I stood still in the middle of the room, staring at the bloody mess that used to be my mother. I breathed shallowly, half in shock, half to keep me from getting whatever she had. The room was cold enough to kill anything in a matter of days, but I still did not want to take my chances. I slowly stepped away from the corpse, quietly slipping through the door. I started to walk away but I stopped when I thought of leaving her to be found like that. This was the woman who gave birth to me. I owed her my life. I owed her feeding me for seven years. I owed her teaching me how to read. I couldn't just leave her like garbage to be cleaned out for new tenants. I turned and made my way down the hall to where the landlady lived and I knocked on her door.

"I don't have any vacancies!" She yelled through the door. I grit my teeth to keep from yelling back that she does now and pounded again. I heard her get up out of a squeaky chair with a groan and I heard he floorboards protest under her unsteady feet. She opened the door with a huff and looked at me expectantly. I looked down at her slightly, having grown a few inches taller since I saw her last, three years ago. "Oh, its Marcelle's brat." The landlady gave me the evil eye and crossed herself. "What do you want?" I stared at her dead in the face.

"Mother is dead." My voice was emotionless, something that surprised me because at that moment I felt nothing. "She died from choking on blood she was coughing up. I would call the police to dispose of the body." I stared at the landlady as her eyes bugged out of her head. Her mouth flapped open and closed as she stared back up at me. I shrugged. "Just thought I would let you know." I turned around, only thinking of where I was going to sleep tonight.

"Brat, you can't leave! I have to report you to the police!" The landlady screamed after me. I stopped and turned back around to stare at her again. She had a glint of hysteria in her eyes before she turned around to make the call. I stared blankly at where the short woman had left her door open. She quickly dialed and started rapidly speaking to the operator. I think I caught her saying that I had killed mother and that I had come threatening her with a bloody butcher knife.

Not ten minutes later, the police pulled up and came into the house ready to shoot at the first sign of a threat. I threw my hands above my head and waited as a police officer searched me, pulling out my puny knife. With my knife in her hand, she looked at me with a look that said "I'm pretty sure you're not a murder." I shrugged as she handed it off to another officer. I dimly hear one of the officers down the hall call for a hazmat team as the first officer quietly handcuffed me. She led me outside before she had me get into one of the cars and drive off.

She brought me to the police headquarters and then sat me down in a soundproof room with two chairs and a desk sitting in the middle of the room. She told me to sit and wait, which I did. Somewhere between the waiting and the officer coming back, I feel asleep. I jumped awake as she sat down in the chair across the table, shuffling a handful of papers in a file.

"Your mother was Marcelle Walters, an illegal American alien, who legally had no children." The officer's voice was bland, and I moved my eyes to the table as she looked at me. "I was unable to find anything on you."

"She was a whore for a living." I muttered as I glared down at a spot of something on the table. "She said that I wasn't born in a hospital and I didn't have any paperwork. I never asked her about it." I saw the officer nod though my bangs.

"What is your name?" The officer asked. I remained silent as the officer stared at me. When she asked me again, I looked up for the first time.

"My mother never gave me a name." My voice was flat, but the officer's face remained passive.

"Is there something you call yourself?" She glanced down to the file in front of her. I looked down again, as she tried to look at me in the eyes.

"Alex." I said after a long pause. I almost felt like I was betraying René and Anne-Sophie, using the name they gave me. But there was nothing else I'd rather be called.

"When were you born?" The officer briskly continued after she took down my name.

"I don't know." I shrugged. I noticed that my body felt numb, and I shifted in my seat. "Sometime in September."

"Are you a girl or a boy?"

"Girl."

"Why were you in the apartment?"

"It was too cold to sleep outside."

"Do you sleep outside often" A nod. "Where would you sleep?"

I shrugged. "Everywhere."

"Have you ever been in an orphanage?"

"No."

"Do you have any other family?"

"No."

"Do you have any friends?" My mind briefly flew to the other kids that I knew on the street, then flew to René and Anne-Sophie.

"No."

"Very well." The officer slammed the file shut and then walked out of the room.

* * *

I ended up in an all girls orphanage while the police tried to contact my mother's parents in America. It was so much better than sleeping on the streets.

My first day at the orphanage, the headmistress gave me a long lecture about all of the rules. They were simple, easy to follow, and made sense. They cut my hair and gave me clean clothes before they introduced me to all of the other girls. They were all nice, but I didn't trust any of them.

After giving me a few days to adjust, the headmistress gave me a uniform and told me that I was going to start school the next day. I couldn't sleep that night, I was so excited. I found out that the orphanage was also a girls boarding school. They tried to put me in a class to teach me how to read at first. When they found that I could already read, they tested me on all of the subjects they offered. I think they were the most surprised that I could speak, read, and write in English as well as French.

I tested into the grade ahead of my year, with only a few supplementary lessons in History, Science, and Math to catch me up. School became my favorite part of the day, and I threw myself into the challenges of learning. I didn't make any friends.

A few weeks after I started school, the headmistress called me into her office. There was a strange man waiting for me.

"Alex, this is John Breisacher, the detective who was working on finding your mother's parent's in America." The headmistress introduced the man, who nodded his head. I curtsied as I had been taught in the etiquette classes that were mandatory for every girl at the school, but kept myself between him and the door.

"You must be Alex Walters." The man said, his accent slightly American, like mom's. He held out his hand with a welcoming smile. I shook it but didn't return the smile. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you." I nodded slightly and looked to the headmistress, who simply looked on. I turned my attention back to man.  
"Were you able to find my grandparents?" I quickly asked in English. Both the headmistress and the man seemed surprised, but it took only a moment for the man to regain himself.

"Well, in a way." The man replied in English. "We found that they both died 15 years ago in a car wreck. After your mother ran away to France, both sides of her families disowned her." He had a sad look on his face. "I asked most of their close family. Nobody was willing to adopt you." I nodded. I felt hurt, I knew that, but I didn't know why, or what was hurting. There was silence in the room for a few minutes. I'm not sure what the two adults were waiting for, but I stayed silent with them.

"Alex, we will find a home for you." The headmistress finally said, switching the conversation back to French. "Even if that home is here with us." I nodded again, not really knowing what to say.

* * *

It was a Saturday three months after I came to the orphanage. I was called back into the headmistresses office, and all of the girls in my dorm were excited for me. I didn't understand how they could all be so nice to someone who didn't trust them. Visitors meant adoptions, and I didn't care about adoptions.

When I opened the door to the headmistresses office, I swore rose petals come flying at me. I could only stare in disbelief at the two people who had come to see me. I was frozen stiff as the younger one came running towards me, while his mother looked on with a kind smile.

"ALEX!" I was caught up in the tightest hug that I have ever experienced. "OH ALEX, I'VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH! WHY DIDN'T YOU COME BACK AND KEEP YOUR PROMISE?!"

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. The blond idiot had found me, and I had never been happier in my life.

* * *

Three months later, I was adopted into the de Grantaine family. In those three months I studied as hard as I possibly could, often pulling long hours in the library just reading about anything that I could get my hands on. By the time that the end of the summer holiday, I could have been even another year ahead, but I didn't let anyone know. I knew that some of the girls in my old class were envious of the fact that I was a year younger.

In those three months, I took an interest in politics and business, mainly because of the family that I was going to be adopted into. The de Grantaine's were a fairly wealthy family, even having some minor influence in the government arenas as well as in other countries. As I read up on the workings of modern business practices, I realized that the de Grantaine company was on a path that would eventually lead to decline and perhaps even bankruptcy. But being only 10-years-old, I figured that someone in the main control of the business also saw the signs, so I stayed quiet about it.

The first day I came home was surreal. René lead me into the house like he did the first time; dragging me by my hand, all laughter and excitement. The maids smiled at me, and Anne-Sophie didn't look tired.

René quickly pulled me to a room right next to his own. He stood right next to me, vibrating with barely restrained in excitement as I stared at the room with complete awe. There was a large bed on one side of the room with a vanity right next to it, but those I barely registered. The last three walls of the room were covered in bookshelves and filled with books, both in English and French. I turned back to René, my eyes as big as they could get, my mouth hanging open. He smiled at my face and then laughed as he grabbed me into a hard hug, spinning me around. I held on to him, barely letting tears fall onto his sweater.

* * *

The next month, I turned 11, and René and I were enrolled into the same school. I purposely tested myself into his class, which wasn't hard. He was only a year older than me, at the grade level that I would have been in my old school. I still didn't trust people easily, so I stuck as close to René as I possibly could. That ended up being both the best and worst move that I could ever make. The best because I was near René, the worst because all of the girls who had fallen in love with him decided that I was their mortal enemy. The days that I came home without a new bruise or cut became a rarity, but all of the girls were smart, and they never hurt me where it was obvious. Mostly it was the whispers that were the hardest to ignore. If I hadn't already studied my way through most of the year, I would not have been able to keep up.

I never said anything about the teasing.

I didn't think that it would help. I knew that all it would do would bring more attention to me, and I never wanted to be in the center of attention. Anne-Sophie called me quiet to other adults. René just said that I was shy. I liked his idea better.

When the two of us were not at school, we were inseparable. Both René and I were both only children, and we were separated from others for different reasons. Him, because his mother had an incurable illness. Me, because I was trying to live to the next day.

As soon as we would get home from school, we would go to the music room. There René would practice on the grand piano that you could hear throughout the house, and I would read the latest book that had peaked my interest. René would always try to teach me how to play, but I just couldn't care enough to try to become good. And I always just wanted to hear him play anyways. Sometimes Anne-Sophie would sit in the music room with us, and sometimes would she play. Her music sounded different than René's, sadder but richer.

After dinner we would end up working on school work, usually in René's room. We usually competed for the top spot in class, but we didn't much care who was first. Most of the work was easy, and afterward, we would end up talking until the maids shooing us off to bed. René ended up teaching me Japanese, and I taught him English in return.

Every night I had nightmares. Each time I woke up, I found myself running to René's room, where he would hold me until I stopped shaking and fell asleep. Bless him, he never asked what I dreamed about.

I was 12 when puberty started. I developed from someone who could pass as a guy to a C cup in three months. It would have not been bad if I had gained a bit of weight, but I was still painfully skinny. I stopped sneaking into René's room after that, and I could tell that we both missed it, but it was just too awkward between us to continue. The awkwardness faded after a few months, but I kept myself in my room, telling myself that I was a grown up now. That lie never worked out in my head anyway.

* * *

A/N: Hi everybody...

It's been months, I know. I'm sorry to everyone that was following me during those months. Adulthood isn't very appealing, and I have literally had five or six different crisises (I don't even know how to pluralize that...) within those months. But I'm on a forced break because I'm really sick, so I might be putting up some more stuff, but I may also not depending on how I'm holding up. I'm working on rewriting _the Ice Queen and the Monkey, _and I'm working on getting this story to where I want it to be.

I do want to thank every single person who reviewed and followed either me or this story. You are all wonderful people and everything just really encourages me:D


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